


Be the Way Home

by a3rie



Category: Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Drama, Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Romance, shameless fluff, slightly fudging with canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-02 18:55:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10950675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a3rie/pseuds/a3rie
Summary: Walter deals with the aftermath of a nightmareBarbara helps





	Be the Way Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lafemmedefandomwrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafemmedefandomwrites/gifts).



> This was inspired by a conversation that had a hypothetical interaction between Barbara and lafemmedefandom's version of Trollhunter!Strickler. I wrote this with intentional vagueness so as to fit either that AU or a possible post series reconciliation. Sorry if it reads choppy or too disjointed, I may go back and edit it some in the hopes of bridging continuity a bit.

He awoke with the phantom smell of blood still filling his senses. The memory of its metallic taste coated his sleep dried mouth made him gag. He turned and violently coughed, maneuvering to the side of the bed in case he was accidentally sick so that it might be easier to clean. His stomach settled without incident and his breathing calmed. As he took in his surroundings the last wisps of the dream left him to the waking world.

Nightmares were nothing new but it had been so long since the last time that this one left him more shaken than usual. The vivid, personal horrors his subconscious had conjured had him stripping off his sweat drenched shirt and scrambling out of his blankets.

The covers were too confining, too hot.

He wanted a shower.

He didn't bother with the light switch and instead made his way to the bathroom and turned on a cool spray. His breathing was slow and deliberate and eyes glowed in the darkness while the steady beat of water helped wash away the remains of the nightmare.

Of all the people he had killed in his past, very few had truly bothered him. They were rarely personal. A job needing to be done. A lesson that needed to be given. Obstacles removed or loyalties tested. Despite his role sometimes demanding the appearance to posture and sneer, he did not relish the messy business of bloodshed. Anytime it could be done, he would grant a swift end and then laud himself for the show of mercy. But with such a life there was a toll, whether he actively admitted it or not, and tonight it had surfaced anew.

Barbara had looked at him with such hurt and betrayal as she bled out in his arms. His claws dripped with her red warmth. Helpless and terrified she had tried to plea and he had awoken with such a force that had almost cost him the contents of his stomach. But it was only a dream, he reminded himself firmly. One that would never come to pass.

After several minutes of silently standing under the faucet he shut it off and left the stall. The narrow shower now felt too cramped even as it had eased the heat of his skin and sluiced away the sensation of being coated in blood. He dressed quickly and left for a walk.

He did not fear the night as he restlessly patrolled his neighborhood and let his mind wander. Sometimes the effort to regain his equilibrium took a little extra time. He did feel like he was being bit ridiculous. A midnight stroll was perhaps excessive, but he knew he would not be falling back to sleep any time soon. So he let himself walk off the residual energy, deciding that it was a better alternative than sitting in alone in a dark house with only his memories.

It wasn’t until dawn was spilling over the horizon that he forced his feet to turn homeward. The nightmare lost what remained of its potency in the face of the sun’s warm rays. With a weary sigh he let himself back into his house and began his morning ritual.

***

His troll nature allowed him to go longer without sleep, but even so the day crawled by for him in a haze. He made it through the morning and afternoon on autopilot and only began coming back to himself after the final bell rang and he had downed his third cup of coffee.

Needing extra time to sort himself, he took the long way home that evening. His shoulder's relaxed to the hum of his car's engine as he detoured down another road to postpone pulling into his driveway for another few minutes. He had lingered in his office later than usual to finish off some long neglected paperwork in the hopes of shaking himself out of his funk, but even that had not been enough of a distraction.

Much to the confusion of some fellow Changelings, he enjoyed the repetition of marking through stacks. The mundane drone of filing and archiving was a welcome backdrop and helped him better focus on tasks that needed more of his attention. He always tended to gravitate to professions that required a fair amount of "pencil pushing" when having to pick a new cover. It left his mind free to wander while still giving a sense of accomplishment at the end of the day. Today, however, he would have preferred something more engaging so as to escape his thoughts.

Try as he might, he had not been able to completely banish the nightmare. The fear and anguish had long since gone but the unease that followed had lingered.

Now home, he stared blankly at the contents of his pantry. Finally, his nagging worry finally won out and he sent Barbara a text to see if she was free. Maybe he could treat her to dinner. Despite how long they had known each other, they were still in the fledgling stages of dating. Circumstances being as they were, they had not been able to fully explore the possibility of a relationship until recently. He felt that a spontaneous, low-key night out would be nice. If he could see her again, speak with her, he was sure that he would feel better.

She replied back with an invitation to join her for a night in at her house and he smiled softly at his phone. They didn’t need to go out, no. But, if Jim wasn’t going to be there he was certainly going to offer to cook. As fond as he was of Barbara, he wasn't sure he could survive another of her culinary experiments.

A change of shirts and a quick spritz of cologne and he was out the door with a lightness to his step that had been absent all day.

***

“That was wonderful, Walt,” Barbara enthused as she pushed her chair back from the table and patted her stomach. “You didn’t need to go to so much trouble, though. Seems somehow wrong to invite someone over only to let them be the one to make the food.”

He smiled over his shoulder at her and shook his head. “It was no trouble at all. I was happy to do it.”

“Well, thank you. Now, drop the sponge and step away from the sink. You may have bullied me into letting you cook but there’s no way I’m going to let you wash the dishes, too.”

Walt looked down and realized he had wandered over to clean up out of habit. He chuckled and let her push him to the side.

“At least let me dry?” A dish towel caught him in the face and he grinned. His chest swelled with warmth at how domestic it all was. He was certainly becoming too sentimental if he could be this happy just by cleaning dishes together.

He really was smitten. Minutes fell by in companionable, productive silence.

“Ouch!” He smelled the blood moments before he spotted it. Barbara had nicked her thumb while reaching into the soap obscured water and had caught the blade before the handle. “Even mundane chores can be a hazard when you’re clumsy,” she joked and turned to grab a clean towel from a nearby drawer. When she looked back she caught how unnaturally still Walter had gone.

“Walt? Are you okay?”

His sensitive nose was overwhelmed with the sharp tang of her blood.

He knew the feelings of fear was irrational. He could see that she was fine.

Yet he felt his heartbeat spike and cold sweat began to gather at the back of his neck and at the base of his palms. He tried to keep his breathing from becoming erratic and internally attempted to talk himself down from the panic.

“Walt?” His name barely registered, obscured by the faint ringing in his ears.

That twice-damned dream. If he had never had it he would not be standing here, paralyzed, making a fool out of himself.

“Walt, you’re looking very pale around the lips. Are you hemophobic? You need to sit down, right now. I’m afraid you might pass out.”

He felt like he might be shaking. Little tremors of anxiety on top of the sweat and the feeling of suffocation. He heard Barbara’s words but found himself frozen in place.

“Your eyes are glowing. Are you okay? I need you to nod if you’re okay. Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

Stiffly, he managed to shake his head. “I- I need,” a pause and his brows furrowed in concentration, “I will be back.” His eyes locked onto the back door and he made to leave.

Barbara held out her hand as if to stop him and he reeled back like she was made of fire.

“Sorry,” she said quickly and stepped out of his way without touching him. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth in worry as she watched him go. She spared a moment to observe his pacing in her back yard before setting to work. While he was out regaining his composure, Barbara swiftly dug under the sink for one of her first-aid kits and bandaged the small cut.

After draining the sink and cleaning every surface to make sure all the blood was gone, Barbara went to the back door. Walter had stopped walking back and forth and was quietly staring up at the sky but she made no move to approach him. She wasn’t afraid of him but she didn’t want to spook him further. She would let him set the terms. Some people wanted contact in the aftermath of an anxiety attack and for others the mere idea of being touched would send them right back into a panic. She didn’t know where his preference might fall.

Finally, he turned to her, his face a practiced mask of calm.

“I’m terribly sorry,” he said, coming back towards her. When he was close enough she held up her uninjured hand to him in invitation. His eyes had the lingering sheen of tears that he’d refused to shed and her heart broke for him.

“You don’t have to apologize. What do you need?”

He shook his head minutely. His previously ashen cheeks were now growing flush, “Nothing. I’m sorry. That was embarrassingly over dramatic. I didn’t-”

“Walt. There is absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about.” She bit her lip again and then asked, “May I hug you?” He looked like he might could use one.

He hesitated a moment before nodding and lifting his arms slightly for her. She stepped into his embrace without hesitation, and he sagged against her gratefully. Turning, he buried his nose against her neck and breathed in deeply the smell of her shampoo. Her familiar scent of citrus and the lavender lotion she used worked like a balm against his still raw nerves.

His arms unconsciously tightened around her as she slowly began stroking her hands up and down his back. He nuzzled against her skin and again inhaled deeply, exhaling with a sigh.

Heaven help him. He was touch-starved and he knew it.

“Want to come back inside, now?”

He nodded and gave her a final squeeze before moving back to let her go. Instead of pulling away, she trailed her hand down his arm and wove their fingers together, seeming to sense his reluctance to let her go. She lead him back into the house without another word and then on into the living room to sit on the sofa.

“Was it a flashback?”

He shook his head after getting comfortable beside her, “Of a sort, I suppose. I believe the actual memory was of someone else… but I may,” he paused to breathe deeply through his nostrils, “may have had a nightmare involving you and the blood just bought it all back.”

The admission was tinged with guilt. She nodded, not needing details to guess what he might have dreamed.

“Would it help if you faced me in your other form?” She had only seen him as a troll on a handful of occasions. Evidence suggested that he didn’t like her seeing that side of him.

“No.”

At the firmness of his answer, she didn’t push. Instead, she shifted and settled back against the arm of the couch and reached over, taking him by the shoulders. “Tell me if this isn’t okay,” she said as she guided him to lie down with his head against her thigh so she could run her fingers through his hair. Whatever product he used was surprisingly light as her fingers slid through the salt and pepper strands with ease.

The lingering tightness in his shoulders bled away at her gentle, rhythmic touches. He rolled over with something resembling a growl and hugged her waist while pressing his face into the soft cotton of her shirt.

“That can’t be comfortable,” she teased as she continued to pet his hair and trace the outline of his ear.

“It is unnaturally comfortable,” he muttered back, his voice coming out muffled. He imagined that he looked highly undignified, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. He actually _was_ very comfortable and more than just physically. Allowing himself this show of vulnerability still felt very foreign.

“You sure? I mean, I’m sure I’m a little smelly, I didn’t have time for a shower after work, only a change of clothes,” she was half joking but if his nose was as sensitive as he’d once claimed then maybe he shouldn't have it flush against her.

“You always just smell like home to me.”

He had gone stiff again so either he hadn’t meant to say that out loud or he wasn’t sure how she would react to it. Her fingers stilled for a moment as his words processed but then they resumed as if nothing were amiss. Unable to help himself, he pulled back a bit in order to see her face. Her blue eyes were a little damp but she was smiling.

Barbara locked eyes with him and stroked his cheek. This flawed, impossible, troll of a man looked up at her with such uncertainty that a lump formed in her throat. It had taken them a lot to get to this point, and honestly, she still sometimes couldn't believe that they had managed to come this far. He had such a complicated past -and so very vast compared to her own. Yet he tried so hard every day.

And, to him, she smelled like home.

She didn’t dare try to say anything. Instead, she bent forward and pressed her lips to his forehead.

He made a small noise at the back of his throat before moving to sit up until they were face to face. He placed his hand to her cheek, mirroring her touch, and tried to tell her his every emotion with the expressiveness of his eyes alone. Her smile turned into a small, shy laugh and she nodded slightly.

That was invitation enough and he leaned in to meet her lips with his own.

By now they had shared a number of kisses, but this one was far sweeter than any that had come before.

Understanding, compassion, this amazing woman offered them and so much more without strings. She knew who he was and what he had done. There were no illusions, and still she stayed. He didn’t think he would ever know what he could have done to end up so lucky.

When she had to pull away to catch her breath she nearly lost it again upon seeing the look on his face. Her own cheeks had to be bright red by now.

She didn’t think she would ever get used to being looked at like she was the most amazing thing on earth.

To be told something so simple and yet so heartwarming sincere…

She kissed him again, still at a loss for words. As one kiss blended with another she realized that words weren’t needed right then. In that moment they understood each other perfectly. Baffling as they both found the idea to be, somehow, they fit.

“Like home, huh?”

“Yes. Like home.”

**Author's Note:**

> I am unapologetic. Well, no, I will apologize that I'm not very good at endings and if that seemed abrupt it's because it was. I grew tied of fighting with them.  
> 


End file.
